


Needs

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Possessive Sex, Public Sex, Voyeurism, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is a one-shot fic inspired by an illustration by gauna-03 on Tumblr.  See notes at end of story.  Very possessive, dominant Reese and dub-con sex follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needs

Title: Needs  
Inspired By: gauna-03's illustration (see notes)  
Characters: Harold Finch  
Rating: NC-17 (very graphic sexual content, dub-con, voyeurism, public sex, possessive sex)  
Genre: Slash  
Word Count: 2,050(ish)

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

"Our numbers for last quarter were even higher than projected. Apparently, the new incentives we extended to our policy holders for making healthy lifestyle choices are working."

The other division heads around the conference table murmured agreement....with one exception. The youngest attendee of this 'executive level' meeting scowled in disapproval.

"I don't know sir....it seems like we're bribing people."

A pair of pale blue eyes pinned the claims department supervisor to his chair. 

"That is _exactly_ what we're doing, Mr. Bartlett. By offering our customers an iPod in exchange for them getting an annual physical, colon cancer screening or choosing to cook at home instead of buying fast food; this company can potentially save millions of dollars in corrective medical expenses."

A rumble of laughter swept around the table as Bartlett lowered his eyes, his cheeks flushing. 

"I understand your point of view, Andrew but look at it this way. There's also a good chance we could be saving our clients' lives."

"Yes Mr. Wren."

The other man nodded and tapped a few keys on his laptop, bringing up a series of charts and graphs on the wall beside him.

"Now then, let's take a look at the projections for-"

Harold Wren broke off in mid-sentence as the conference room door opened to admit a tall, lean man. _What in the name of…._

"Mr. Rooney? May I ask what this is all about?"

Although the uninvited visitor was wearing the Glen Check suit of his 'assets manager' cover, the expression on his face was all John Reese.

"This Mr. Wren, is about every grasping sycophant on your board understanding just who you belong to."

_"What?!"_ Finch's voice rose an octave as Reese locked the door behind them and palmed the wall switch that operated the room's privacy screens. 

"You heard me Harold." he nodded to the other men. "John Rooney, I'm Mr. Wren's assets manager and I prefer a more hands on approach to the person I'm in charge of."

Reese strode around the table, grasping Finch's wrist and pinning the smaller man's back against his own chest.

Finch struggled in vain, feeling the heat rise in his face as his op held him as easily as anyone else would a child. "John…please…."

Reese leaned down, warm breath caressing the recluse's ear and sending a shiver down the back of his neck. "Look at them Harold. Every one of them either hates you, wants you or both." 

John's free hand reached around to unbutton Finch's waistcoat and pull out the royal silk tie tucked so neatly beneath it. Undoing the knot, Reese slipped it from under Finch's collar and tossed onto the conference table. 

Disregarding his employer's pleas to stop, John easily divested Finch of jacket, waistcoat and shirt. Harold darted looks of mute appeal to the rest of the room but all of them, without exception, were gazing at the spectacle of the their boss being systematically stripped. The look on Bartlett's face was one of malicious gloating. _Andrew wants to see my humiliation....Reese is right._

Finch felt himself being lifted and turned like a rag doll; his rump making contact with the surface of the table. Both wrists now secure in Reese’s grip, Harold felt the op reach down with his free hand and pull his loafers off one at a time; tossing the shoes into the corner of the room. The executives’ whispers were clearly audible over the pounding of Finch’s heart.

_“Take everything off....”_

_“I wanna see his scars, I know he has them...has to with that limp.”_

_“Want to see him take it up the ass, the pretentious sonofabitch.”_ This last comment was from Bartlett, smug satisfaction oozing from his tone.

“John, John please don’t do this.... _stop it now!_ ”

Reese ignored him, reaching over to reclaim the strip of blue silk and binding the recluse’s wrists securely. He wrapped the extra length behind Finch’s neck, tying a double-knot to the opposite arm so that Harold’s elbows were bent, hands pressing under his chin as if in prayer. He pushed the older man down until he was lying flat against the table, knees dangling over the edge. John looked at each of the men in turn as he cupped Harold’s crotch. 

“None of you will ever have him...I want to make that perfectly clear to you. What you see today will be the closest any of you will ever get.”

_“Why?”_

The one word inquiry, so full of hurt bewilderment, drew Reese’s attention back to his half-clothed captive. The blue eyes softened, the compassion in their depths belying the implacable finality of his reply. 

“Because....they need to realize what they’re missing. They need to know.”

And as Finch at last understood the implications of John’s remark, he began to struggle. The intimacies that he and the op shared in private; Finch’s predilection for being controlled, dominated... _for submission_ , were never meant to be common knowledge. 

Now here, in the place where Harold Wren was the top dog, dominant, supremely alpha; John Reese was going to reveal the cracks in his armor....forever undermining his authority with these men. John’s fingers made quick work of Finch’s belt, popping the snap on his slacks and opening the fly. The whispers began again.

_“A hundred says he wears briefs.”_

_“Boxers for two hundred.”_

_“I’ll bet a week’s pay the prissy asshole has panties on.”_

Heat flooded Finch’s face as he felt John’s hands jerking his pants down over his hips, felt the cold air of the conference room blowing across his bare thighs as Reese tugged again, pulling the slacks to his knees and then finally removing them altogether.

_“Jesus Christ....”_

_“Shit, he’s doing it...he’s gonna do him!”_

_“Take him, want to see him cry.”_ Bartlett’s voice again, louder this time.

Harold looked up to see John’s hot gaze on him...the blue eyes darkening, pupils dilated like they were when Reese held him bound and naked in the bedroom. _I own you, you are mine and now everyone will know that...._ they promised. Finch groaned as he felt a wave of arousal pulse through him, his cock swelling; tenting the teal colored silk of his boxers.

_“Yessss.”_ The smug tone of Charles from HR made Finch crane his head to look at the men around the table. He gasped at their reactions. 

A few were stroking themselves over their trousers, three had their own flys undone, hands in their underwear as they leaned back in their chairs. Findlay from Risk Assessment had one hand down his pants while the other pinched his nipple as he groaned in pleasure. 

Only Andrew refrained from touching himself. His hands were gripping the edge of the table and he was standing, in order to better watch his boss’ downfall. His erection was obvious however; the khaki slacks doing nothing to hide the young businessman’s arousal. 

_They were turned on by what Reese was doing to him...._ the knowledge kicked his own desire into high gear, a stain darkening the color of his underwear where his swollen, leaking head tented the thin fabric.

Harold shut his eyes as John’s fingers slid over his chest, finding his nipples beneath the brushed cotton of his undershirt; tickling and teasing the sensitive nubs. The recluse moaned as Reese continued, pinching the now tight knots and causing Finch to buck up against his hands. 

“I know you like it Harold....they all wish they could do this, whatever their reasons but you’re mine and you always will be.”

“John....God... _please_!”

Reese grabbed the hem of Finch’s t-shirt, rucking it up underneath the man’s armpits, baring his stomach and chest to the greedy eyes of his employees.

_“Damn....look at all that hair!”_

_“Hell, he must have tits like a girl, look at him squirm.”_

_“Lucky bastard....”_

The whispers now had an edge of awe to them and for once Andrew’s voice was absent from the litany. By this time Finch had all but tuned them out; his attention, his body completely focusing on what John was doing to him. All else was irrelevant.

One hand still plundering Finch’s nipples, John’s other caressed his belly and hip; pushing under Harold’s boxers and stripping them off in one fluid motion, taking a sock along with them. Finch’s other dress sock dangled loosely over his foot; half off, the toe flapping as he squirmed in response to Reese’s manipulations.

Finch squawked as John grasped his cock, his fingers squeezing the hot column of flesh as he stroked from base to crown. Reese gave Harold’s nipple a last hard pinch; then released it to pull a bottle of lube from the inner pocket of his suit coat. Flipping the cap he coated his fingers and touched Finch behind his balls. 

Harold whimpered, spreading his legs without hesitation.

_“Holy fucking shit...he‘s just letting him,”_

_“Jesus, that’s hot....”_

_“God-damn, I want some of that. Look at him!”_

Finch felt the familiar teasing of John’s fingers on his anus and pushed against them. “John.... _please_ , I need...”

Reese continued to work Finch’s cock as he fingered his partner. Harold felt himself relaxing, opening to receive the welcome intrusion inside. 

John pushed in deeper, stroking, searching until his slippery fingers brushed over the small bump they’d been seeking.

Finch’s hips bucked, actually lifting off the conference table; a sympathetic spurt of precum coating the fingers still caressing his penis. 

By this time all but one of the watching executives had their pants around their knees, hands circling their own cocks as they masturbated to the scene taking place in front of them. Only Bartlett was still standing, the younger man reaching out towards Harold’s chest.

Reese’s hand was a blur as it shot out, seizing Andrew’s and jerking sideways quick as a striking snake. A _**crack**_ , followed by Bartlett’s agonized scream caused Finch’s eyes to open again. Andrew was curled back in his chair, his one good hand now cradling the broken fingers of his other. Harold looked up to see John’s angry gaze focused on Bartlett.

“No-one touches this man but me. _Especially a jumped up little fuck like you, Andrew._ You don‘t deserve someone like him.” His voice, though quiet was full of lethal promise. “Don’t try that again....you’ll regret it.” John squeezed Harold’s cock for emphasis, wringing another sobbing moan from his partner.

Finch felt the loss of Reese’s fingers keenly...he was frustrated, empty...

“Mr. Reese....”

The quiet jingle and metallic _snick-snick_ of John undoing his own pants made Harold wriggle his hips in anticipation. To his relief, he felt Reese’s crown penetrate him, burying his solid, warm length balls deep into Finch’s willing opening. 

“Yes..... _yes John!_ ”

Finch groaned as Reese began to slide in and out of him in smooth, determined strokes...each one hitting his prostate and bringing him closer to the edge.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Harold Finch lay back against the pile of pillows, his battered body cradled by the king-sized, therapeutic mattress as it arched against the supportive memory foam._

_The recluse’s lower half was naked, save for a sock still dangling half-off one foot. His shirt and waistcoat were half unbuttoned, revealing his hairy chest. His right arm was slung underneath his bad leg, holding it up and to the side to allow the well-lubed fingers of his left hand access to his opening._

_His cock was hard, straining up towards his belly and leaking precum onto his thigh as Harold pushed deeper inside himself._

_Finch’s glasses lay abandoned on the night stand, his eyes screwed shut as he chuffed and writhed in response to his self-pleasuring and the images in his head. He could almost feel John’s body against his; the scratch of Reese’s wool slacks on the back of his thighs....John’s cock stretching him, touching his prostate in place of Harold’s fingers._

_Finch bucked his hips, feeling his testicles draw up and cried out as he came, stripes of hot semen coating his shirt and vest. His whole body felt flushed; yet even as his release crashed over him, a hollowness rose up in Harold’s chest. Tears slipped out from beneath his closed eyelids._

_Finch dug his fingers into the thick, brocade bedspread, sobs wracking his slender frame. What he truly, desperately wanted, Harold could never have. Why would John even think to turn to him? Want to love him, when the op could have anyone he desired. And why would John Reese ever desire an old, cripple like himself? Harold’s voice was full of longing as he spoke to the empty air._

_“I-I need you, Mr. Reese.....”_

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

NOTES: I’ve had this fermenting in my brain for a bit now since looking at the amazing illustration gauna-03 posted on her Tumblr page. It is an amazingly hot and powerful image and made me wonder just what Harold was picturing John doing to him in his imagination. 

For better or worse, this is my personal take on it. To see the original illustration go to gauna-03’s page and take a look. To gauna-03: thank you for all the amazing illustrations you’ve created for the PoI fandom (and for us Rinchers especially) and for the inspiration of this one picture in particular.


End file.
